A HOT TIME IN THE OLD TOWN
Guns salute, and crows and pigeons fly,
Bronzed, Homeric bards go striding by,
Shouting “Glory” amid the cannonade:—
It is the cross-roads
Resurrection
Parade.
Actors, craftsmen, builders, join the throng,
Painters, sculptors, florists tramp along,
Farm-boys prance, in tinsel, tin and jade:—
It is the cross-roads
Love and Laughter
Crusade.
The sun is blazing big as all the sky,
The mustard-plant with the sunflower climbing high,
With the Indian corn in fiery plumes arrayed:—
It is the cross-roads
Love and Beauty
Crusade.
Free and proud and mellow jamboree,
Roar and foam upon the prairie sea,
Tom turkeys sing the sun a serenade:—
It is the cross-roads
Resurrection
Parade.
Our sweethearts dance, with wands as white as milk,
With veils of gold and robes of silver silk,
Their caps in velvet pansy-patterns made:—
It is the cross-roads
Resurrection
Parade.
Wandering ’round the shrines we understand,
Waving oak-boughs cheap and close at hand,
And field-flowers fair, for which no man has paid:—
It is the cross-roads
Love and Beauty
Crusade.
Hieroglyphic marchers here we bring.
Rich inscriptions strut and talk and sing.
A scroll to read, a picture-word brigade:—
It is the cross-roads
Love and Laughter
Crusade.
Swans for symbols deck the banners rare,
Mighty acorn-signs command the air,
For hearts of oak, by flying beauty swayed:—
It is the cross-roads
Resurrection
Parade.
The flags are big, like rainbows flashing ’round,
They spread like sails, and lift us from the ground,
Star-born ships, that have come in masquerade:—
It is the cross-roads
Resurrection
Parade.